Preacher's Perverted Cuckold

Sep 2020 · Boruma Publishing

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Donald Thorne had it all - fame, money, a lovely wife, a beautiful house. But the televangelist needed more. Can he convince lovely, sexy Tamara to have sex with Charlie, their college-age landscaper...and to let him watch? After all, can it really be wrong when it's the will of God? But what will happen if Tamara and Charlie turn the table on him? Can he survive the humiliation?

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Tamara’s body sang as Charlie tore his eyes away from the menacing form of her husband and back to her. This moment had been months in the making. But now she had what she wanted, what she needed. Donny had been hinting to her about his secret kinks even before they had been engaged. But she had been too innocent to understand his meaning. And when she had finally understood, she had been horrified.

Well, she was older now. Older and wiser, with years of experience under her belt. The dewy-eyed innocent who had fallen in love with Donald Thorne was long gone. And if she chose to pursue sexual satisfaction with a college student years younger than she was, while her husband looked on in approval, who was going to say anything about it? Different strokes for different folks, and all that. And besides, she was rich. And the rich made their own rules. If she wanted to, she could bang Charlie until they were both limp, sweating piles of goo, and Donny would probably be able to find a bible verse to make it all okay.

But Charlie’s touch was sweet. Tamara’s eyes closed as his hands, tentative where she wished he was sure, crept upwards from her waist. Unable to resist the sweet temptation of his touch, she reached behind her back, unknotting the strap of her bikini top. The flimsy garment loosened, and with a shrug, she let it fall to the floor. Her lips curled in a proud smile as the younger man’s eyes widened as he drank in her body.

“Yeah,” came a hoarse mutter from across the room. “Grab 'em, boy.”

Tamara shook her head, the motion almost too slight to be seen. She didn’t want a repeat of her times with Donny. Times which, too often, had left her sporting bruises on her arms or her throat. Bruises which had to be hidden or explained away.

“Do what makes you feel good,” she whispered. “And me,” she added, letting one eyelid shudder down in the merest suggestion of a wink.

The motion of Charlie’s head wasn’t a nod. It was barely a twitch. But when their eyes met, no other answer was needed. And Tamara’s eyes rolled back in her head as the blond-haired young man cupped her in his hands, and bent his head to…

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